


Today, the Sky remains blue

by Halcyonranhuer



Series: Today, the Sky remains Blue [1]
Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Attempt at Humor, Coffee, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Lucifer will live, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Redemption, post-wtmtsb000, revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-24 02:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19714504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halcyonranhuer/pseuds/Halcyonranhuer
Summary: A new enemy appears. Sandalphon falls.





	1. Djeeta

Floating islands of Skydom shimmer scarlet as the eyes of Bahamut while the Grandcypher cruises unsteadily above them against the harsh unforgiving gales. The deck is usually filled with the crew's hustling and bustling. Now, it is strangely desolate with no comfort of a living whisper.   
  
Everyone has promptly retreated to the warmer cabins snugly located at the lower levels of the airship, where most of them are occupied with war preparations, upon the foreboding of an unpropitious second battle. She has always been Captain, but she can never quite articulate where's her exact role in all this meant to be.   
  
Katalina and Rackham has made sure that everyone's task in the Grandcypher is clear cut.   
  
She's just left with the banal task of mindlessly flipping verbose paper works- far too many lines of fine prints- before approving them.   
  
Utmost redundancy.   
  
It is after all Percival who has so tenaciously scrutinized the reports before handing them over.   
  
(Some disembodied dark thought morosely mocks beside her reddening ears, but with a twisted definition of an unwavering resolve, she quickly dismisses it.)  
  
She's never by herself enough. Never having a lack of companionship, she is usually accompanied by Vyrn and later, Lyria. Hence, she's unable to resist reminiscing the countless cherished moments; nostalgia grimly clawing in her chest as she recalls the days of impish mischief and reckless adventuring. It is constantly raucous and boisterous-   
  
_"Two millennia alone. I wonder how was it like?" Vyrn innocuously inquired once, beating his red wings like fresh spring cogs, lightly bobbing with bountiful energy._  
  
_"He must have been really lonely." She had offhandedly remarked as a doleful image of the Supreme Primarch gazing forlornly at the celestial bodies comes to mind._  
  
She feels her cheeks searing hot as she imagines Sandalphon's sardonic chuckles stemming from her facile statement.   
  
_Ah, she never could begin to comprehend-_  
  
Now the illuminating flame from a small candle wick sets the room aglow in a spectral dull yellowish hue, as she motionlessly splays across the velvet couch, her eyelids fluttering between open and shut. On several occasions, her lazy gaze forcefully trails to the serene view of two silhouettes on finely crafted linen sheets.   
  
An ailing Lyria who along with Vyrn, has been lulled to an indolent slumber despite the unrelenting brusque turbulence and pricking chills.   
  
Safe.   
  
Blinking blearily when she hears faint rapping and creaking of old door hinges, she hazily acknowledges the arrival of Katalina in her disoriented state.   
  
It's time to change shifts.   
  
Dazed, she reluctantly twists her torso and flings herself off velvet. She doesn't know why she expects herself to stand erect and be diligently poised. Instead and very much hilariously, she ends up grappling between gravity and her brusque movements, only to tumble over, aching body hitting the ground with an audible thud.   
  
"Danchou?" Katalina looks at her, aghast; the unfortunate witness of the earlier slapstick performed by an incompetent individual.   
  
"Yes. Changing shifts." She mumbles sheepishly and absentmindedly averts her gaze towards the fur carpet, before wordlessly accepting the hand that has been thrust in front of her.   
  
"You may rest alongside them. I'll read a book and take watch." Katalina is quick to suggest tenderly, her tone a pitch softer than her usual sternness. A genuine radiant smile graces her beautiful facial features.   
  
"It's alright. I'd prefer to take a breather in the library. We will after all reach the destination in a mere few hours." She promptly rejects the invitation, sporting a tiny smirk.   
  
Instead, she chooses to depart in lassitude despite the weight of fatigue to sort out the myriad of doubts and uncertainties that have plagued her mind since.  
  
_One day, you'll know; know that your self-assured hubris won't sustain it all._  
  
"Are you okay?"   
  
Her heart constricts, shaky hands hovering above the doorknob.   
  
Katalina is watching with an indiscernible expression.   
  
"Yup." She prays her voice doesn't betray her by cracking at the end, sounding horrendously weak and insecure. Head hanging low, the dark corridor overshadowing the corners of her eyes, it is only until she hears the ratchet of her mad panting that she realizes she has ungracefully bolted out of the room.   
  
The captain still feels Katalina's gaze behind the slightly ajar door and bristles as if her back's been burned. Unhesitatingly, she redoubles her large quick strides down the long corridors and rushes away to a somewhere not the library.   
  
Djeeta is eighteen Skydom years to this day and captain of the esteemed Grandcypher crew. A full head of blond with sun-kissed skin and caramel doe eyes; free-spirited and wild, the epitome of the term 'Skyfarer'.   
  
What jest is having her quaking in her boots and barely attempting to stand on quivering limbs?   
  
Djeeta hisses aggravatingly when a drift of chilly air grazes her rosy cheeks as she enters the deserted higher decks.   
  
Quiet.   
  
After a few minutes, the temptation of habitation wafts about. Yet, the eeriness of the bleak situation apprehends her, coiling about like a venomous viper and she blinks strenuously; straining eyelids weighing down on burning balls of lead-  
  
_The current Supreme Primarch snorts haughtily, but she knows he's trying to bite back a faltering smile and he turns to her, exposing the crook of his nape; exposing supple, soft skin. "Having nightmares again, you ask me? Well Singularity, Primarchs don't dream."_  
  
_Liar._  
  
Her eyes lie stubbornly focused on the dying sunset settling unevenly above the Crimson Horizon. Beyond its edges, a deep vermilion smoldering upon a fading ultramarine. Upon reaching a certain point, the impending nightfall seems almost tranquil. Yet there are no stars mottled on the endless panorama of a disproportionate blend of shades and she notes the various splotches of drear magenta coalescing in the distance.   
  
Then, Djeeta feels the beat of the low rumbling thunder bellowing in her ears and that unfounded frightful premonition which she has shoved time after time away in the deepest crevices of her mind, comes gurgling back up mercilessly.   
  
Incapable.   
  
For the sake of her crew's positivism and morale, she has chosen to ignore the anxiety that has slowly manifested itself in its physical presence of chewed nails and chapped lips.   
  
It's simply unexplainable this time round. A foreign sensation tangled with irrational fear unrelentingly clambering in her palpitating heart. Her best nights remains fitful with lucid dreams.   
  
_Erste. Society. Foe. Bahamut. Blue girl. Primal. Astral._  
  
_Father._  
  
_"Oh daughter." Wispy smoke gush out, viscous and an unsettling white, through his teeth as he whispers apologetically. The emetic smells of bath salts and mint leaves churns young girl's gut. "There's only one way or the other."_  
  
If it is not the unfamiliar pernicious gnawing of nerves, it's the mismatched orchestric dissonance of Pandemonium's winds. All in all, a cacophony of ominous melodies. For some reason they seem to have amplified and eerily echoed throughout the Grandcypher, the howling winds carrying tortured cries, the gloomy wooden creaks of the rusted bolts in the iron mast and loose steel ropes seizing madly like unconstrained whipping reins against the metallic deck.   
  
Rackam will never allow the Grandcypher to remain in this pitiable state. Yet, they haven't got time to oil the bolts or fix the ropes in place.  
  
The previous battle had been rough and they had barely won by the most minimal of margins, if Belial and Lucilius' sudden disappearances could be considered a victory.   
  
They had two months, barely sufficient for rest after two seemingly interminable years of conflict, before that news which shatters the rose tinted glass of peace.   
  
As if not satisfied enough with the dramatic finale, something unknown suddenly decides to unleash pandemonium (A-ha) in the Crimson Horizon once more. In which leaving the Skyfarer Crew in a most harrowing state and scrambling back to Pandemonium hovering about, swerving here, there and everywhere like some headless primal beast fledgling.   
  
More debilitated memories unfurl in ghastly swaths of monochrome. 

* * *

  
The sky was a pretty pastel blue with the finest winds of Skydom, the sun peeking amidst the fluffy clouds that shimmered like gold threads and cotton candy.   
  
Sandalphon had been oddly livid and restless, deftly pouncing on every monster the Grandcypher encountered on its way; pink hoodie fluttering like obscene large lotus petals aside.   
  
"But isn't this Grumple-phon being his grumpy ol' self?" Vyrn quipped with bright eyes before proceeding to laugh boisterously. "Last week, he got mad at Lucio messing up between breach and fabuklik conditions!"   
  
"You mean 'bleach' and 'fabric conditioner'." Djeeta corrected sardonically.   
  
"-And it got his black wear filled with splotchy stains. His white hoodie later turned pink because Lucio apparently mixed Vira's dress with his." Vyrn babbled on, oblivious to Djeeta's wry amusement.   
  
Afterwards, she only remembered slamming against the rails and hearing an aghast shriek escaping Vyrn as he too was sent hitting the rails with an audible thud.   
  
"Vyrn!"  
  
"I'm fine! But what in the apples was that?" Vyrn groaned as Djeeta sympathetically rubbed the back of his head.   
  
"Malluel!" Someone on deck cried. Her ears were ringing. Mind disorientated.   
  
Mal, or Malluel as she had been known, was one of Micheal's Angels of Instruction. Her partner being Halluel. They had been a great aid to them during the fight, in their own personal interests or not.   
  
Apparently, Mal came upon the Grandcypher bearing disquieting news of the four Tetra Primarchs being murdered.   
  
Djeeta would have thought Mal was making a bad April fool's joke if she didn't head towards the commotion and witnessed Mal hacking out blood which sloshed generously onto the parquet decks, gasping with the excruciating need for air. A rusty red matted on her once lush ebony hair, her battered wings shedding feathers at an alarming rate and her outfit was thick and crusty with congealed blood.   
  
She didn't know Primals could bleed so much. 

_Since then, she has always prayed to forget those begging eyes._

Katalina shivered, breathing harshly as she cautiously scanned her surroundings. "I'm just glad Lyria's fast asleep."   
  
Mal's eyes flitted with tears as she gazed at Sandalphon who delicately held her like some fragile porcelain doll. Both had never been particularly close to the other. Yet, the look in her eyes seemed as if she was begging for some superficial relief-  
  
(-that this Supreme Primarch could never give.)  
  
"I promise... I will crush them. Whoever... I will." He snarled contemptuously through gritted teeth; unfaltering, willful, Sandalphon.   
  
Mal didn't smile, cracked lips left parted, blue orbs glassy and she just weakly grasped his arm, bloodied fingers tracing red capillaries on faded leather sleeves.   
  
Not long later, she faded in Sandalphon's arms into the sweet reprieve- the mortal sky dweller's concept of death.   
  
There was no Primal core, Sandalphon knew then.   
  
Hers was obliterated, cruelly smashed to smithereens with no chance for a second revival. Whoever did it never intended for her to live. It was simply Mal's raw persistence that she held out for so long.   
  
What bitter irony for a final instruction.   
  
Djeeta had felt a sour taste spreading in the caverns of her mouth and the first seeds of terror seeping to the crevices of her soul. 

Afterwards, Skydom instantly plunged into a maelstrom of elemental chaos. The foul weathers had too aggravated the Primal Beasts and the seal of Bahamut threatened to weaken further. 

She was also deftly reminded that Lyria hasn't gotten better since.

* * *

  
_Skyfarer._  
  
_She's all too aware that the Moondweller isn't exactly lying with her pearly whites. Prepare your doubts. She says. Eat them up. Quaff them down._  
  
A sudden rush of panic asphyxiating her, Djeeta chooses to lean heavily on the mahogany rails. Her slow pants in long draws, she clenches her damp fists tightly as she recoils back to her inner turmoil.   
  
Then she hears thunder. Like a negative reflection of church bells pealing in the distant hills, it rolled across the malevolent rusty sky, reverberating.   
  
Head lolling back, she thinks she sees hell.   
  
Angry purple dimension crack lines streak the edges of a distant Pandemonium. A distort medley of snapping and cackling, repetitive, luminous violent bolts that appear and disappear in rhythmic tandem momentarily overwhelm her senses.   
  
"Singularity."   
  
Her heart screeches to a halt, faltering in a beat.   
  
It's Sandalphon. Her mind feebly registers.   
  
Eventually, she releases a long breath she doesn't know she's been holding. As Sandalphon strolls over, his heels make obnoxious scraping clacks against the metal deck.   
  
Soft coffee brown curls falling in gentle folds framing high cheekbones and a chiseled jawline, scintillating crimson orbs and the worn obsidian armor that have once seen a better Eden. Sandalphon is undoubtedly, breathtakingly prepossessing, being the masterpiece of the previous Supreme Primarch.   
  
(Though Sandalphon himself will only beg to differ.)  
  
She cannot deny she's sometimes unequivocally drawn to his rubellite orbs.   
  
Today, he's scowling more ugly. Eyebrows furrowed and lips twisted in a contorted feral frown. The haunting weariness in his eyes are still showing and Djeeta's brought to a shallow pondering if Primarchs suffer from more mortal ailments, specifically the lack of sleep from nightmares.   
  
Despite the chaotic confusion clouding her senses, she simpers whimsically instead in acknowledgement of his presence. "Your hoodie is still pink.  
  
Sandalphon hoarsely groans. "Lucio."   
  
For the next few minutes, there are no sounds between them except for the syncopated tunes emanating from drifting winds and the booming faraway thunder.   
  
Her thoughts exceedingly unsettled and shoulders trembling, she exhales the query pensively.   
  
"Who might you think is behind all this?"   
  
Grimacing severely, Djeeta refuses to glance up, expecting unending accusation from which his plaintive eyes will derisively covey.   
  
Who has the gall?   
  
Who has the audacity?   
  
(Who? Who? Who?)  
  
Sandalphon had been nigh stumped over the barrage of natural disasters that occurred almost instantaneously.   
  
However, he is still Supreme Primarch and with the same haphazard tetra plumage he once stole and eventually entrusted with, he manages to temporarily quell the natural disasters that mercilessly tormented Skydom. Although the Elements still rage sporadically with skyquakes, whirlwinds and torrential rains, it isn't exactly hailing sulfuric brimstone or having wormwood for waters.   
  
"I don't know." Sandalphon tersely replies instead, as he presses his lips to a thinning line.   
  
Djeeta may have been extremely reticent about her emotions as of late. Still she pushes to implore, caramel orbs peeking from golden locks. "Will it be Lucilius?"  
  
Sandalphon skeptically narrowed his eyes at the supposedly anodyne comment, his temper skimming on scorching brisance and harshly retorts. "He wouldn't have stepped back so quickly."   
  
Sensing the frustration evident in his tone that she dare raised the choice of this name, she doesn't bother to impugn him further.   
  
"Oh... Might I have some coffee?"   
  
Her question lingers in suffocation following an ensuing silence.  
  
"If he comes back, we'll just beat him." He finally murmurs.   
  
Djeeta sneakily averts her gaze from the frightful view towards him who remained seemingly completely unperturbed despite mentioning that dastardly Astral, his gaze steely focused ahead.   
  
He said 'we'.   
  
"Yes, yes. **We** will beat him together. Your fingers are delicate after all." Djeeta smugly smirking as she closely observes the way Sandalphon's right eye twitches in response.  
  
She hasn't felt like this for a while. Laughter bubbling about her with such effervescence.   
  
Or she's clawing off insanity from the veneer of her hubris.   
  
"Why you..." Sandalphon purses his lips unhappily, narrowing his eyes before sternly stating. "I'm **not** your personal coffee maker, Singularity."   
  
"Yes. Yes." She chuckles blithely as she hears him clicking his tongue in irritation  
  
Yet Sandalphon departs and shortly comes back with an iced coffee, generously topped with swaths of delicious whipped cream, apple sauce and rainbow sprinkles.   
  
Ah, it's one of that Supreme Primarch's new recipes that caused a huge rancor on a finer Monday.   
  
"Thank you." Djeeta hummed, placing a hand on her chest as if in a placating gesture.  
  
Sandalphon deadpanned before rolling his eyes. 

The Grancypher advances further and it feels foreign, like a slow drawl to a death sentence.   
  
Putrid odors, perhaps similar to a substance of both gasoline and rust soon pervade her nostrils. Nauseated, she scrunches her nose, the patch of skin between her brows creasing to a deep fold.   
  
_Our defeat is inconceivable. There are primals on this ship-_  
  
"Djeeta!"   
  
"Djeeta! Where did you go?!" She hears Vyrn speeding towards her, fervently flapping and fluttering his little wings. "I fell asleep for like a minute and you disappeared!"  
  
It wasn't a minute, Vyrn... She chooses to keep mum and nods wordlessly instead.   
  
The small red dragon cries escalate to a heavy tone of despair as he agonizingly wails. "We've been looking for you all over-! Wait, is that that super nice smelling apple frappie Sandalphon made? How could you drink that before me!!"   
  
She can hear the nylon strings threading her tight smile steadily snapping as Katalina and Caligostro approaches the duo.   
  
"You've been asleep for five hours, lizard!" Caligostro curtly snaps, twirling the edges of her ponytails indecorously.   
  
Katalina rigidly stands there in a daze, bleary-eyed and unkempt.   
  
"I'm not a lizard!" Vyrn shrieks in denial, baby reptilian fists balling in petulant rage. 

Katalina doesn't rebuke Caligistro for berating Vyrn. Instead, she lifts an arm as the eccentric alchemist mildly whiffs the air in their proximity. "Danchou. Look ahead."   
  
"Disgusting. Black rain." Caligistro growls, furiously rubbing her nose.   
  
She clearly feels her consciousness ebbing away and her thoughts, as clear and concise as they have been mere moments ago, are coming to an end.  
  
Djeeta swiftly turns to face Sandalphon, sanity tethering by the frailest of cords, but he has already disappeared.   
  
Ahead. Katalina says ahead.   
  
The surroundings gradually grow hazier, blinding white spots flickering in her distorted vision as an anathema manifested into sight.   
  
Anathema indeed.


	2. Gadreel

_Days ago._

Therein lies an exquisite room in the otherwise philistine interiors of the Grandcypher. From the perfect stain and plane of the mahogany wooden floorboards, which runs to meet the delicately hand-painted floral papered partitions, to the hand blown light bulbs cradling in spiraling wrought iron light fixtures, it is the result of master craftsmanship with a keen finesse.   
  
The dubious history of the Grandcypher remains largely untapped till this day, hailing from an epoch of time largely forgotten.  
  
Of greater importance and relevance to present times however, this is Sandalphon's quaint little retreat.   
  
A large solid wooden bench top with a towering shelf presses on the far left of the room filled with tiny supply drawers decorated with majestic gold leaf flourishes. Each of them containing different aromatic brown powders.   
  
"What shall I brew today?" Sandalphon hums to himself at a particular moment, standing solitary in the midst of the mystical room. The stained glass windows cast iridescent early morning rays that dazzle like crystals onto the ligneous room.   
  
_"You said the room is mine to wish, Singularity._ "   
  
_Djeeta gaped before sputtering unattractively. "Yes. But- Sandalphon, have you ever heard of **excessive** furnishing?" _  
  
_"Nonsense. This room is not even comparable to the likes of Canaan." A diminutive smile faintly tugging at the corners of his upturned lips._  
  
" _The Grandcypher's funds!" He thinks she might pull her hair out as she wails hysterically. "What can you see from those window panes anyway?"_

_The colors of his sky-_  
  
"Perhaps a cold brew?" A voice scatters all thoughts.   
  
"Cold brew!" He exclaims with a shrill pitch, stupefied. He doesn't think anyone will come in here at dawn. In fact, most, if not all crew members are instead irrevocably drawn to Ladiva's Raduga.   
  
He sees a svelte figure by the doorway, clad regally in heavy and beautifully embroidered spotless, white furling robes. A crimson cape hangs fittingly on her shoulders. They swished swiftly and seamlessly flew up as she daintily struts over. "It's summer and the nights have been awfully warm. Perhaps a cold brew might suffice."   
  
"Good morning, Sandalphon." She then greets him coquettishly.   
  
"Juliet." He stiffens as she walks closer to him. He thinks he smells sweet magnolias wafting in the air.   
  
"Cold brew. Is it a mortal thing?" He opens and clenches his jaws. "Can you even drink coffee cold?"  
  
He thinks he must have sounded offensive and jeering, for her shoulders swiftly tensed and her back straightened at his reply. "Romeo came up with it. Many summers ago, he requested the royal chefs a recipe for a cold brew. He says I would love it."   
  
"Did you?"  
  
She shakes her head slowly. "I wish the conflict did not come so early."   
  
Distorted images and lurid memories from the nigh forgotten past in sepia swaths of nostalgia seems to coruscate within the walls of his mind. He then blurts out in an absent-minded dreamlike trance. "I told him to plant coffee trees."   
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Sandalphon, under the pretense of contemplation, begin to close his eyes to avert a transfixed gaze and quickly corrected his reply. "If you ever head back to your abode, you should start planting coffee trees too."  
  
A mellow laugh elicits from Juliet.   
  
"Coffee trees? You mean Coffea trees? Well... They just don't grow anywhere." She muses, a little confused but her eyes are twinkling.   
  
Sandalphon doesn't say a word when Juliet misplaces the sugar cap or the tableware. He just thinks to experiment the queer idea of a cold brew.   
  
Curious. He doesn't question. There's just this certain camaraderie between them.  
  
Like a decaying spiral downward to decadence, a series of events happen downhill ever since.   
  
There is a common thing among all living things in life. Primals, skydwellers, astrals alike. Even for those on the higher ends of the celestial hierarchy, they have to admit.   
  
_There's a force that compels you to move far greater than your will._  
  
Today, the knot around his neck seems tighter, like a smothering noose. There's a lot of things he doesn't know and it is certainly not befitting for one who is a Supreme Primarch, yet there is this precarious naivety informing that his idiosyncrasies have always pulled him through.   
  
Even though he is supposed to be the (once more) reverent, regal Supreme Primarch-  
  
Screw that.   
  
He has just been Supreme Primarch rounding off two months and for his mistakes, was entrusted five pairs of wings to end a two millennial war, stop Lucilius' plans, lead the rest of the Archangels, defeat the Avatar and finally, become the Grandcypher's personal barista.   
  
To think before all that, he was about to toss the Singularity merrily into the abyss.   
  
If he has to be honest, Sandalphon wants spill blood and curse in every skyfarer language he borrowed from Lucifer's supposed omniscience.  
  
"You came to see me? Or do you need nausea medication again?" Lucio's voice is frighteningly soothing, faultlessly entwined with a surprising genteel dialect and Sandalphon knows he has reached.   
  
Lucio sounds like Lucifer, feels like Lucifer. His words, however are of a different matter entirely. Almost instinctively, Sandalphon intensely frowns in disapproval.   
  
"Again?" He retorts in exasperation.   
  
"What's with that reaction, Sandy? Are you really sick?" Lucio implores in a somewhat melodramatic manner.   
  
"I'm fine." Sandalphon puffs out a paltry breath. "Who put you in charge of the laundry _again_?" The last of his words leaving a certain sense of spite and disbelief.   
  
"Whoever did the roster this week." Lucio candidly replies as he proceeds busying about his Grandcypher's duties. His upturned lips remains an enigma as he appears the least bit contrite lining wet clothes on an all too familiar pestilent weapon.   
  
It's an implement consisting of a long, curved single-edged deadly blade and a long pole with intricate and equally superfluous decorations.   
  
Belial's scythe. Once, Djeeta had proudly proclaimed before carelessly stashing it into the treasury without as much a thought when she obtained other finer weaponry.   
  
Lucio, very carefully and evenly, drapes drenched, discolored outfits on the onyx handle. The purple boa feathers are clumped together, water cascading down feathery tips.  
  
(Micheal will laugh her angelic arse off if she were to witness this.) 

A momentary silence settles before Lucio speaks. 

"There's a peculiar Primarch I once met. Maybe two times, or three." Vibrant blue irises bear holes into Sandalphon when he lifts his head, sanguinely meeting his gaze. "I'd like to think that he'd remain on the other side a little longer." 

Sandalphon knows something is amiss upon Lucio's words, even if he fails to properly understand half of it. The other's face compressing; he looks almost rueful despite the crushing intensity of his messages. "I guess. It's not the case now, and he's got something else with him. A trump card."

"We have reached Pandemonium!" Someone announces from the higher decks. Sandalphon nods before beckoning Lucio to continue.

"I am just saying he's not good news, Sandy." Lucio then adds on dolefully.   
  
"I understand. You're saying he's a new enemy. Someone who is insanely strong, I presume, to have been locked up in Pandemonium(1) and now free, like the old me. But first," Says Sandalphon when he pauses to take a short breath. "Do you think we will get along?"  
  
He has a little too many imperfections, and a little too gaunt and a little too weary from trials of over two thousand years.   
  
Lucio gives his drollest smile.   
  
"Oh Sandy, why do you always ask the questions you already know the answers to?" 

* * *

  
They merge paths amidst a fountain of sangria blood, black puddles and mangled cherubs' flesh in the solace of carnage that graces the upper levels of Pandemonium's halls.   
  
"Hullo." Greets him smug and cool. Pale, unearthly skin like alabaster and hair the shade of platinum which seemingly shimmer like silver threads. His most prominent feature being the transpiring defiance in his condescending red orbs which remind Sandalphon of swaying spider lilies and humming Angel's Trumpets. "I've been awaiting your presence. Name is Gadreel. Archangel of Deceit."  
  
A demoniacal monster who loves bathing in hues of red, with crusted flakes of blood coating bony white fingers; all poorly in a guise as some deiform image of a seraph. At least so says Lucio.  
  
The Primal that should be not be here is currently seated above a massive structure wrapped in adamantine chains, penal fire and the acrid stench of burnt hopes.  
  
"An Archangel?" Sandalphon asks with incredulity, his figure upright and imposing. "Not Fallen?"  
  
"You're the Supreme Primarch." Gadreel doesn't appear fazed and instead listlessly shrugged his shoulders in reply. Not even deigning to spare Sandalphon a glance, the loquacious Primal chooses to drone on with his stories.   
  
_They met once in the hallways of Canaan. A distraught young Sandalphon hiding behind white plumage._  
  
_"Hello, little sparrow."_  
  
"You're just like me. You know, spares." He beams a little too blindingly. A radiant smile that causes his eyes to prominently crinkle and Sandalphon feels as if he is fatally crushed in an invisible grip of trepidation.   
  
(As if he's the prey.)   
  
Gadreel then lets out a dismissive nasal chortle. "The Astrals have a terrible sense of getting things to work. Though Foe will beg to differ."  
  
_Foe?_  
  
Sandalphon utters not a word as he constantly denies to himself that he isn't struggling against the uncanny charisma exuding from Gadreel's haunting half-moons that pierces every withering fiber in his body.   
  
He remains rigid on both feet.   
  
Sandalphon knows this presages the beginning of him treading Phlegathon.   
  
"It will pave the way for Tzimtzum." Gadreel finally declares, prideful and complacent.   
  
Sandalphon narrows his eyes cautiously at the other Primal's crazed blabberings. "Tzimtzum?"   
  
"A world of free will. I- The Primarchs will be Ha-Makom. Gods, we will be, that is." Sandalphon can hear the mad grin presently plastered on the Gadreel's face even when his head is tilted far back. The arrogance addling his brain, or what Sandalphon perceives it to be, seeming weirdly visible. Gadreel sounds exultant as he simply breathes out his next words.

"It is Atziluth." 

He can't tell if this Gadreel is insane or just a little labile.   
  
"Atziluth." He involuntarily blurts out the accursed name instead, syllables leaving a foul aftertaste in his mouth and Sandalphon is suddenly granted aware of the malediction heavy in the air. Outside, Pandemonium's storm rages.   
  
Gadreel grins with surprising alacrity as black rainwater constantly smudge sooty trails down Sandalphon's downy brown spotted plumage.   
  
"Are you going to try and vanquish me now, _little sparrow_?" 

* * *

_At the same time._

There's no grace in the storm, only wrath and tempest as the Grandcypher tumbles haplessly against the gale. The air is thick with a briny mist and the deck is awashed with black rain.   
  
It is at the storm's mercy.   
  
"What's going on?" Djeeta croaks as the deafening thunder resounds in her pounding eardrums.   
  
It’s staggering to note that there aren't loose debris truculently tearing apart the Grandcypher already.  
  
_Should they have proceeded? Yet, retreat isn't really an option since they had come this far._  
  
Cagliostro swallows thickly in reluctant acknowledgement. "I think...that this time, the enemy might be slightly out of our league."   
  
"It is after all Gadreel." The voice that speaks out next sound almost distant but it offers them some kind of debatable comfort.   
  
"Lucio?" Djeeta hesitantly hiccups with trembling lips.   
  
This rain is too cold.  
  
She can makes out a blurred silhouette in the relentless falling Stygian blanket.  
  
"Me indeed, Danchou." Lucio replies with witticism. "Sandalphon has sallied ahead a while back. That's the best way- I presume. I do suggest we have to leave this area." He then elaborates.   
  
"Why?" Djeeta asks as an ugly feeling of doubt seizes her guts.  
  
"Because of that?" Cagliostro jabs accusingly at Atziluth's image, which at this point they still haven't learn of its repugnant name, above the somber tower called Pandemonium.

Djeeta sees.  
  
_Foe. Moondweller. Whoever she really was. That woman never said anything wrong._  
  
_One day, you'll know; know that your self-assured hubris won't sustain it all. Prepare your doubts. Eat them up. Quaff them down._  
  
After a few moments of rumination, Lucio urgently turns back to Djeeta with a grave expression. "Yes. That is something not meant to be. We have to leave before-"  
  
A sudden dismal cacophony of broken notes reverberate in her skull. Thick pulse and dizziness make Djeeta's head throb and stomach heave. Her vision is ridden with white smoke twirls drifting steadily and it takes longer to regain her bearings.   
  
"Lucio?" She calls loudly, despite the ear-splitting screeching in her ears.  
  
When she sees him not moving despite several calls, she decides to approach his still form. He's frozen in motion, mouth slightly apart and eyes low; in the midst of his previous action. Instinctively, she removes her glove and reaches out her hand to tap on his arm.  
  
She recoils her fingers just as quickly.  
  
Instead of familiar body heat, it is a sense of foreign chill upon contact that confounds her. In that brief moment, it has caused her fingers to prickle painfully and turn her lips blue. She takes a step back, nursing her damaged skin in the other hand.   
  
_The old aphorism: Truth, whatever people will swallow._   
  
"It's a Time Lock. As it name suggests, this alchemy can stop time in a certain radius." Cagliostro suddenly murmurs in sepulchral tones before hissing vindictively. "I thought that kind of dastard alchemy was long gone!"  
  
The alchemist then explodes to a splenetic rant. "That thing. Whatever that thing is- I believe it is the same as the Primal Beast Akasha. It can manipulate time to a certain extend. It's not natural however... There are still signs of alchemy because of that black rain-"   
  
"Djeeta!" A startled cry interrupts Cagliostro. The both of them seem permanently paralyzed before Djeeta cranes her neck robotically to the faint warble she knows so well.   
  
Lyria looks lugubrious, her sparkly blue eyes glossy.   
  
Cagliostro gives a brusque nod in acknowledgement at the blue hair girl's presence.   
  
Body going rigid, Djeeta feels her stomach clenching once more and she's oddly certain it's not the cold or the dire situation that has just befell on them.  
  
"When did you awake?" She asks, her lips strangely dry.   
  
"Me and Katalina went ahead because I thought I heard Lyria at the stairs." Vyrn replies, his unhappy tone imperceptible. "Hey Djeeta, I really think you need some rest."  
  
Katalina sighs jadedly, appearing devitalized.  
  
(There is no need to add that she is probably disillusioned by this jest of a captain by now.)  
  
As something unknown evokes in the back of Djeeta's flabbergasted mind, Lyria shifts towards her and cups her freezing cheeks in warm palms. She whispers gently. "I'm okay. Without you by my side, I actually feel a lot of worse."   
  
Heart palpitating and eyes blinking excessively, her mind balefully registering trouble as she finally utters her burning questions fueled by Lucio's earlier warnings. "Lyria, are you alright? Was that a Primal- Gadreel's doing? When did the Time Lock activate? Will Sandalphon be alright?"   
  
"Djeeta." Lyria calls again, but sternly. This time, as if in admonishment. Yet the tender grace and baby blue tones decorating her delicate features is so mesmerizing and Djeeta finds her thoughts trailing away once more. That grisly veil has vanished completely and Lyria will no longer lay inert in bed. Perhaps, there is now a glimmer of a single strand in the silver lining.   
  
"I'm sorry." Djeeta flutters her eyelids. "Thank you, Lyria. I feel my head has cleared a lot." 

When she finds herself enraptured by Lyria's laughter, a weight falls from her chest.   
  
"You should go ahead and not dilly here anymore. We will be here to guard the Grandcypher. Since more than a good half of it was caught in the perimeter of the Time Lock, we won't be advancing nor retreating soon." Cagliostro who witnesses their exchanges, notions with a wave of her hand when they all seem more relieved. Ouroboros remaining tightly clutched in her other hand, Djeeta then sees Percival with crinkled eyebrows and Seruel with a stony gaze not far behind. Cagliostro must have explained things to them earlier.   
  
"Get to whatever that weapon is. There must be a mechanism inside that sets the Time Lock." Caligistro then hastily instructs. "Bring a decent party and head down there. Lucio says something about a Gadreel we have to look out for. You know the drill, Danchou. If it's a Primal Beast, get Lyria. If it's a machine, whack the controls. We hold the fort."   
  
There's a litany of staccato growls which gradually end up interspersing with mourning squalls that interrupts her midway. Cherubs with contorted features and deformed limbs, looking more like bags of rotting flesh rather than a holy choir, are heading towards them at an alarming and inhuman speed. Broken halos flailing and elongated bony spears in hands, they seem to scream for blood.   
  
"I hope you can figure out what to do soon, Vessel." Percival who is poised a second ago, finally raises his weapon. He then lets out a disgruntled groan. "Seeing Vane trying to consume the last cookie in suspended motion is awfully disconcerting."   
  
Seruel quietly eyes the flying enemies. The enemy has begun its assault. They are severely disadvantaged with their meager numbers and the cherubs seem nothing like any monster he has faced. Yet being like Cagliostro and Percival, the Erune prince has chosen not to voice it out. The only way now is to get into Atziluth and stop things from worsening further.

"Go." He gestures briskly.   
  
"We will stop that thing." Djeeta then reiterates with steadfast assurance.   
  
The protracted and bitter dispute which maims the blue skies has to end some time. Why not now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot help but feel Juliet and Sandalphon have somewhat similar situations.  
> (1) Sandalphon misunderstands Lucio here. Gadreel is actually sealed in another dimension of similar nature to Belial and Lucilius'. Of course, only Lucio knows. The lore will be expanded a little more in the final series. 
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and support! I didn't think there will be any since it's purely self indulgent!


	3. Sandalphon

Sandalphon thinks that Gadreel is especially garrulous, until he finds himself pilloried by him .

"You aren't made by Lucifer." He claims in a trilling tone. "It's an Astral that made me, who also made you. We are." He gestures a finger to himself and then towards Sandalphon. "The same."

Sandalphon shoots him a vitriolic look, his nerves verdantly brimming with animosity.

Perhaps it is due to Lucifer's inherited temperance that he hasn't gone on to try and hack off Gadreel's head by now.

" _Nonsense_. I'm nothing like you. You have more weapons than wings and you dare have the cheek to call yourself an angel?" Sandalphon doesn't know why he thinks to throw a caustic remark instead.

Much to his chagrin, Gadreel shrugs, insouciant.

"Deny the Truth all you like. Lucifer doesn't have the knowledge of an Astral. He needs to create you in an image. Thus, who gave him the image to make you? Our creator, of course." He then sighs in a rather histrionic manner.

"One more word and I will kill you." Sandalphon spits spitefully.

"You humor me, Sandalphon. I thought you were just miserably lacking in the physical department befitting of an Archangel." Gadreel proceeds to snort incredulously upon his reply, hand lifting to gently caress Atziluth's frigid surface. "Apparently, I am sorely mistaken. Our creator must have too made several compromises on your intelligence. You don't seem to get what I say"

He flashes his pearly whites as the ancient rusty gears surrounding him set into a demented choir of chanting banshees; hellish creaks and clanks to announce the activation of a weapon paramount to the Avatar.

"Atziluth can manipulate time, can summon monsters at its bidding." Euphoria seemingly studding his nerves, he continues reciting as he hops off from Atziluth a little too energetically. "Atziluth can play with your emotions."

Sandalphon sees its amber glow slowly transforming into something frighteningly familiar- a warm hue of honey and caramel entwined with a minor hint of baby blue somewhere.

_"Your fingers are delicate."_

Gadreel seems to have construed something from his expression and proceeds to unscrupulously stare at him for an instance, a sickening smirk stretching on his facial features before his gaze turns threatening towards the Grandcypher. "Oh Supreme Primarch, is there anyone you care about aboard that ship?"

Sandalphon doesn't deign to reply. Nothing consequential had transpired earlier for the following few seconds when he remained silent.

Yet-

"It can even kill a Primarch. Beelzebub will not have the honor holding the title of being the only one to end a great Primal that is." Gadreel then inhales deeply upon the silence, before cavorting around the weapon.

Sandalphon feels his breath hitching when the cool brandished tip of its spear starts shifting immediately and finds immediate purchase on his throat, right above the steady bobbing of his Adam’s apple. He regards Gadreel with a wry expression as the ambiance between them grows increasingly suffocating. A natural instinct as to which the Supreme Primarch briefly draws his prized sword- Ains Soph- next and unhesitatingly smacks the threatening edge away from him in a frenzied manner.

"What a bear..." Gadreel offhandedly comments, yet his eyebrow twitches in a manner of what seems to be an act of slight annoyance. He then mechanically cocks his head towards him and Sandalphon observes tiny flashes of violent fury in that pair of deranged reddening irises.

Gadreel vehemently growls. "Are you so daft that you fail see the beauty in this creation?"

In less than a split second, Sandalphon hears a sickening crunch drumming in his ears and the feeling of an unbearably painful impact on his jaw, before ricocheting out of the skies and slamming against hard bedrock.

Vision distorting, he thinks he sees specks of ebullient sparkles at the corners of his eyes reflecting the playful rays of the orange sunset. His head unhelpfully remains in a state of blank white and he conveniently forgets to breathe. There is an obtrusive ringing in crescendo at the back of his mind when Gadreel unkindly grabs at his neck and shoves him against a metamorphic rock. He doesn't need to see to know existence of a purple bruise generously blossoming on his cheek; palate tender, blood flooding the insides of his mouth.

"I'm sorry. My hand slipped." Gadreel croons, shaking his head ostentatiously and gesticulating in faux apology before adding. "It might probably have been something to do about a bootleg of a Supreme Primarch you are. I should be tolerant."

He dares sound morose despite his audacious statement.

Something acrimonious then snaps in Sandalphon and he makes his every thought to maliciously vanquish this loathsome Primal and Atziluth.

"Fuck. You."

Gnashing his teeth, Sandalphon curls his thin fingers, a little lackluster around, the onyx gauntlet before enthusiastically delivering a sudden heavy oblique kick. He preens in satisfaction as he observes Gadreel stumbling a few steps and loosening his grip.

"Darling, you're barking up the wrong tree. You could save that for Belial." Gadreel taunts, feigning shock and his voice a grating tone of mockery despite bleeding lips. He slightly grimaces however, when he sees those red orbs, not his, gazing indignantly at him.

Willful. Unfaltering. Sandalphon.

"Kill me?" He then flippantly echoes the Primarch's earlier threat and a whimsical laugh rumbles deep in his throat. His visage of cheerfulness veiling the vile debauchery that lies just beneath, and Sandalphon knows.

Sandalphon seethes. "Yes."

The vagary of sagas between good and evil unraveling on history's inked pages; Angel and Fallen Angel once again. That demented tale continuing far pass two millennia.

(Or perhaps, it's just a tale of Sandalphon's retribution for his transgressions.)

A series of majestic wings unfurl regally with a shower of psychedelic sparkling light behind Sandalphon as his core thrums through his jittery nerves.

Mismatched, yet symphonic.

Three pairs of thick white plumes speckled with sliver spots that glistened almost ethereally in the rising sunlight, acting as a nimbus of power.

Two pairs of varicolored wings. Each wing poly-chromatic; shades of red, blue, orange and green. Every feather large and diaphanous, glimmering with the power of elements.

Then, a pair of vestigial brown, spotted insipid wings.

Somewhere, he thinks the city bells are toiling. A clamorous appealing to the mercy of the skies and in a mad expostulation with the flames of Gehenna.

No.

Not Angel and Fallen Angel.

Just a wannabe Supreme Primarch and a wannabe Supreme Progenitor.

It's laughable, really, when one thinks about the circumstances. If he is made by an Astral, then Astrals really need to start mending this faux pas of theirs.

He suavely tilts himself in direction of the Grancypher, blocking the enemy's unabating gaze on the ship. "Watch me instead, Gadreel."

_"My creator is Lucifer!" The little sparrow cries._

* * *

The clangor of the swords resound like battle cries in the air just a little beyond Pandemonium's glacial fortress.

"It's started." Katalina says cautiously, as her fingers constantly only dangle just above the the hilt of her sword.

Djeeta has opted to bring along her usual gang of exploration crew, otherwise also known as the first ones who joined the Grancypher when she first started on her journey. They have the best coordination and adaptations with each other if there are any unexpected scenarios.

In the dingy and deserted interior of the pestiferous prison, the captain then spots a tiny crevice against a lone, featureless brick wall.

"That weapon-thing-whatever is just a little higher." Eugen hollers as he maintains a keen eye on the surroundings. The odd lack of monsters is perturbing and the tension draws tighter within the group every passing second.

Regardless, Djeeta decides to peer through the crevice to get a glimpse of whatever fight that has occurred outside. She catches sight of Sandalphon and a svelte figure crossing swords and magic.

Pale, unearthly skin like alabaster, hair the shade of platinum which seemingly shimmer like silver threads and red orbs that resemble rubies like Sandalphon's. He is studly, his face mesmerizing and adorned with gorgeous features.

Yet every cell in her desiccates and decays to nothing as if she is facing Bahamut the god.

A gust of chilly air that flows through the crevice flurries her hair and she shudders violently when she witnesses Gadreel’s sinister smile,which seemingly blows mockingly onto her.

"Djeeta, come on." Vyrn nervously calls as Lyria pulls the captain towards her, her hand faintly grasping the hems of Djeeta's dress. Djeeta complies to move on, but Gadreel's image stubbornly remains inked in her mind. 

They make their way to a small entrance of Atziluth. There's something infernal about that hideous ruin, as if it leads down to a bottomless perdition. Rackam then blurts out breathlessly. "They won't know we are here, yes?"

"It is an old Alchemy Weapon that is used as a stronghold, rarely does anyone abandon their stronghold to participate in a fruitless battle." Rosetta replies confidently, arms folded in her bosom. "This particular one... Well, the lack of noise already suggests a lack of activity. I doubt there would be any ambush."

It is then Cagliostro's voice crackles, distorted, from a lovely doll (much ironically); sandy-brown toy bear with a lace ribbon, she has given to them earlier before they departed. "Most probably. That Grumpalphon trusts us to do it (1). He's having a reeeeal blast out there with who I presume to be Gadreel." 

"It really speaks!" Vyrn gasps as they all survey the territory. The pale bleak sun rays that radiates so blindingly from the struck sheen of silver metal bars and broken blades, presumably where the dead Fallen Angels and Cherubs lie, surrounding Atziluth.

Djeeta, Lyria, Vyrn and Io cast furtive glances around them, as if trying to gain some bearing of the remnants of a prior madness stewed around them. For Djeeta, it's not her first time in Pandemonium, yet something preternatural remains a canker in her heart and she can't seem to put it into words.

A detached limb grips a broken hilt: heads, back-drawn in the death throes, tilted red skeletal jaws and hollow orifices grimly upward, as if in last invocation to their Astrals, or perhaps more likely, an _indignation_. Vyrn gulps audibly and Io releases a suppressed squeak.

Rosetta gently nudges Io. "Stop looking, dear. Let's go."

Some things are best left unseen, but Djeeta spares another lingering gaze at the corpse. _The horror will grow mild, this darkness light._

Her legs bring her on.

As they begin their arduous trek up the the narrow and chilly corridors of Atzulith, Cagliostro's voice once again chimes from the doll. It seems chaotic with heavy artillery on her side - Ilsa must have joined the battle somehow, praise the skies- but her voice remains a stoic calm as if she's striking up an inane conversation on a lazy Sunday noon. "Surfed through the old records I snitched when I entered the Astral labs with Gabriel and only found a single name, detailing most closely in relation in what we are observing now. "

"Atziluth."

As soon she has mentioned of its dastardly name, everyone who was with Djeeta, halt and remain not moving; footsteps staunched as in suspended motion. Cagliostro adds on in the meanwhile. "I found that it is an alchemy weapon created from the scraps of the primal beasts Akasha, the Grand Order and Celeste."

"Zooey?" Katalina inquires out loud.

"Nothing like that girl. Just a small part of the Grand Order. Apparently because of these different Primal Beast traits, it can manipulate time, negative feelings and also amplify its influence and powers. It's not perfect like the weapon that Beelzebub made, but I believe it was the prototype that he referenced from- other than that why would it be in that lab? It is believed it can kill Primarchs too."

Djeeta tightly shuts her eyes, recalling the last few weeks, the memory still seems so unbelievably surreal and then those scintillating crimson orbs-

Lyria encircles a comforting hand around her trembling shoulders and Djeeta eases herself to continue listening to Cagliostro.

The alchemist drones on her explanations with a tone as if engaging in bavardage. "It was not a Primal Beast and it was a weapon not capable of full control under any Astrals' hand. Hence, the Astral who made it was disregarded and the only Primarch who tried to cause mayhem with it mysteriously disappeared with Atziluth."

Rackam huffs impatiently as he rolls his eyes. "Let me guess. The one called Gadreel, of course."

Vyrn is meanwhile, beside with disbelief. "How did you uncover so much in such a short span of time?"

Cagliostro scoffs with pride. "I have two thousand years from researching alchemy! What else would I be good at. This is just another part of what I always do. Anyway, if it's an old alchemy weapon, the mechanisms are usually stationed at the top."

"Got that. Then let's just bust this thing up!" Rackam chuckles heartily as he smacks his fists together loudly.

"First, the monsters." Rosetta steadies her dagger. She sounds oddly determined and tensed- Yggdrasil has stopped chiming for a while now that Djeeta thinks- no matter how laid back her posture seems to be. "I see where you little critters have all been hiding."

They have come to the end of the corridors. It leads to a barren area with broken headstones sporadically scattered around. Then, comes an empty tortured scream with a sense of melancholic menace, the air permeated with a rancid odor most probably from the decaying creatures of the abyss and finally, thousands of sinister hollow eyes aglow in the debilitated remains. 

This is going to be proved a gargantuan failure. Djeeta pulls out her weapon. 

Seven and a tiny dragon against a thousand monsters.

Then again, she's just vaguely aware there are (at the very least) five functional combatants aboard the Grandcypher against a rowdy crowd.

Cue the majestic orchestric OST.

They will all need more than Chat Noir's luck to emerge triumphantly from this wretched conflict. 

|   
  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies. I intended to upload the ending today, but there were far too many words. Hence I separated the conclusion into two parts.
> 
> (1) Cagliostro sees Sandalphon defending their ship. Hence, the 'trust' part.


	4. Today, the Sky Remains Blue

If he's modeled in how Lucifer would view him, Sandalphon thinks that it will have been nice if mortal coffee had been a deciding inspiration.

What do they call it again? Ah, a Café au Lait? Maybe not, but it's definitely something along those lines with all the fancy names.

That will have been really nice.

Sandalphon also thinks it's a gaping misstep to have provoked Gadreel. Then again, his entire life has been sorely riddled with debacles. On a luck scale of one to ten, he probably got a negative five. That isn't so bad-

He feels the seething hate radiating from the other party when hot metal and hot metal clash, as if reverberating upon the conflict on their very core beliefs.

Gadreel's movements are unbelievably swift and deadly while wielding lethal vice, a pair of dark twin swords which he has swiftly unsheathed earlier. He shows no sign of exhaustion or pausing despite the heavy blades, strands of platinum locks billowing in the strong wind.

Sandalphon tosses his head sideways to avoid a vicious attack, vision temporarily blurred and he wonders how much more he can take before he loses consciousness. His tongue's soaked in the taste of blood. Bruised, winded and so very dizzy with a leg in agony, he feebly redirects a coruscating purple blade towards Gadreel and hopes he may have upset the other's momentum somewhat.

Gadreel breaks into a sly smirk when he realizes that the Primarch's attack is far too slow and slovenly to even graze him.

The shrill cry of a cherub hauntingly pierces Sandalphon's eardrums and he discovers _the really dirty_ pincer assault a fragment of a second too late when a fiery chain manifests before his face. A sudden gush of pain jolts throughout Sandalphon's body and he briefly notes, through resolutely clenched teeth, the scorching metallic ligatures sharply cutting into his wrists.

The familiar abhorrent visage cuts closer into view.

Far more ironic than anything in Phantagrande or Nalhegrande or whichever Skydom, Gadreel's wings are white; a pure radiant snow white. Sandalphon has to begrudgingly agree, even with much foul repulsion, that there are subtle hints of that rare silver glimmer in each feather which only Lucifer possesses.

What kind of poor jest this?

(The entire Skydom is a flipping juxtaposition.)

Gadreel meanwhile languidly traces his canines before his tongue pushes the inner caverns of his mouth, as if he's trying not to burst out into a delirious guffaw as Sandalphon struggles vainly against his unforgiving binds.

A lone female bears witness to their exchanges, a single eye focused and peering through the same hole. At the top of Atziluth, there are frosty glasses and control panels a total size of four square tiles, just enough space for a particular single Astral to maneuver about.

Behind her, heavy fighting prevails and she then quickly stands bravely to defend Lyria. Though, she still feels her ankles being weighed down by intangible chains instead. 

"Lyria, hurry up!" Vyrn wails perplexedly, wringing the doll as the other fiddles helplessly with the mechanics. "Why isn't Cagliostro answering?"

A monster advances on them, its physique hardly discernible in the shadows and reeking of rotten raw fishes. Djeeta swerves and proceeds to charge bringing a sword to its gnarled face, slashing its grotesque nose. Slime drips onto the floor. Its wound oozing great globs of phlegm and sticky mucus, fetid and noxious to the skin.

Its initial slow movement belies the speed it is capable of and Djeeta is nearly caught unaware by its incoming tail, a spike end catching the pink threads of her dress. As it thrashes its armored tail about in fury, its one massive eye swivels wildly, searching for the human that have dared lay a blade on it.

Djeeta tiptoes behind it as it begins to emit clicking noises, large ears rotating upon any signs of movements. It spots Djeeta. However before it manages to pounce on her, there is the anthem of shattering glass. An explosive arc of tiny knives shower upon it, piercing its supposedly hardened flesh. It shrieks ghastly in pain, before hastily retreating. Djeeta watches on with wide eyes, barely avoiding the silver shards that fortunately chaff the minimum of her skin.

In front of her lies Sandalphon and his twelve wings in regal majesty. Panting harshly, his watery eyes gazes at her and then he lets out a mindless laugh, devoid of mirth and addling with bewilderment. 

"Danchou, how- _hah_. How are you here?"

Earlier, he recalled the sanguine glint and a certain caramel hue from the frosted glasses of Atziluth pricking the sides of his eyes. With his mind all muddled up and his body desensitized, he pulled his wings together as he decided to perspicaciously and recklessly fling himself into the weapon.

He imagines how Gadreel will interpret the Supreme Primarch as an entire other epiphany and chuckles heartily, until wincing disdainfully when he experiences a searing ache in his chest.

"Sandalphon?" Djeeta cautiously squeaks, her voice discordant and stuttering.

Thick shards of glass are lodged in his neck and shoulders, the piercing pain almost unbearable if not for him being an Archangel. This frosted glass must have been made special to hurt a creature of Primal Beast level. If not for his ascewed sense of priorities, he will have long allowed the hollow regret to continue painfully gnawing at his heaving chest, berating him for not thinking twice and being so needlessly impulsive.

"You should help Lyria." He wheezed in reply.

It is then indiscernible silhouette, emerges from the obscurity of glass dust and broken shards. If not its gargantuan wings, he won't have known it is Gadreel.

"You!" Gadreel hisses venomously, eyes blown wide to an impossible degree. "You bastard!"

Sandalphon smirks triumphantly, a satiated grumble falls from parted lips. "Now you're going all vulgar. How couth."

(Sometimes, he thinks to hysterically charge into a mad dash, rushing past the skies to another Skydom as his heart-core?- reels to distance itself from the reality of his life. _If these current events unfurling before his eyes is his destiny, it is purely nonsense!_ )

"I should really kill you and everyone else!" Gadreel gravely threats; voice low, almost straining as he hauls Sandalphon up from where he has laid with a vitriolic gaze. Sandalphon surprisingly remains submissive as he averts his eyes to a somewhere and belligerent confrontations with Belial, the Avatar and Lucilius flash into his mind momentarily.

_Ah, that whole villain talk again._

"Are you trying to avoid reality now?" The vice-like grip tightens unforgiving around his neck. "Sandalphon, look at me."

_Yes. No. Maybe. And my collar is going to get ruined, thank you._

Then, his face mockingly shifts to a lopsided grin.

"Lyria." He rasps.

Gadreel has never whipped his head so hurriedly, red orbs deranged with anger. His core brimming with hatred and disgust to the righteousness against him. _Righteousness on what terms. All of you Astrals. Curse you all to damnation! "Who are you to judge! Lu-" He curses vindictively at a pair of iridescent orbs and a sinister grin._

There's Djeeta, all Glorybringer, her white and golden cape rippling in the gusts, glistening with some knightly pride as she fends off the offending cherubs. Then there's Lyria with her gangling arms, using whatever that's left of her feeble strength, pushing down on a certain switch. Vyrn meanwhile, lividly bounces on it with all his might and with that, the first creaks of rusted mechanisms mark the beginning of the unsealing.

Gadreel, in a fit of rage and panic, dashes over with outstretched arms like some mindless ravenous predator. Sandalphon moves to hold him steadfast, not registering the intense bloom of burning pain the numerous cuts are causing him.

"Sandalphon!" He maddeningly shrieks; a bloodcurdling cry.

Sandalphon yells. "You said to watch me, you knave!"

(If Lunalu is here, she will have agreed that it is note-worthy to ever realize that this may have amounted to a satirical play of a demented married relationship, if not for the Deus ex Machina pulls both sides are having.)

"Let me help!" Djeeta then changes her focus to also push down on the switch.

Ancient gears press together and as they grind against cobwebs and two millennia worth of black dust, they clank and groan. Atziluth's engine cores glows a deep red before dimming to a flickering wisp. Djeeta plunges her sword into it, unhesitatingly and briskly, the light from the blade destroying the weapon for good. 

Gadreel howls. Nothing Primal. Nothing Skyfarer. Nothing creature from this Skydom or the Moon.

It's just an anguished bawl from a god-forsaken creature.

* * *

Cagliostro lifts her head with awe as a blanket of lights, like the Aurora Borealis, hangs in the sky. It's a brilliant green road, with a darker turquoise aura clinging to one side of it and on the other, a series of cool neon colors. Golden streaks fray on the edges. There's just something ethereal from how the lights shimmer and stretch; growing and receding; striving and shrinking, eventually becoming a collection, an army made of light marching northwards to where the Grandcypher and her allied ships are positioned.

"They did it!" She cheerfully shouts. 

At that moment the Grandcypher suddenly jerks forward and nearly collides with their allied ships, if not Ilsa swerving hers away in time. It nearly sends all those aboard to their knees. Seruel and Cagliostro grab the rails in time, while Percival thrusts Lohengrin to the ground and steadies his balance, perhaps too prideful to fall.

"The time lock..." Cagliostro grins foolishly, despite leaning on the rail in a hilarious position. "It's been released! Though, it'll take awhile for everyone to start moving again."

Above them, they see the visages of Primal Beasts and angel wings hovering far above them, slightly hidden by the wisps of grey cirrus clouds. All are imbued with some divine glow over a spectrum of colors. Somewhere, Seruel thinks he spots Malluel. Somewhere, he thinks he sees Gabriel. Somewhere, he thinks he even sees Lucifer and he squints to try to get a clearer picture. Then, a dissatisfied grunt breaks him out from his temporary reverie. 

A cherub's plowing its short knife straight into Percival's shoulder. The red Dragon Knight then wrenches it away and crushes its limbs with his bare hands, a mannerism in contrast to his inborn ennobled disposition, before mercilessly setting it on fire.

Cagliostro mumbles in resignation. "I forgot that once the Time Lock gone, it doesn't mean a safe zone. Come on, let's hold out for a little while more." She effortlessly hops down to the lower deck and summons Ouroboros once more. 

"Percival." Seruel turns to extend a hand to the other. 

"Thank you for your concern. Always at my prime, Seruel." Percival says instead as he brushes red locks from his sweat-streaked face and stands up without as much of a twitch. "How queer, I'm feeling a lot better. Is it because that abomination is gone now?"

They both turn to look at Atziluth, which is at a lower altitude from its original place as if it is falling very slowly. Then, they see the skies of Pandemonium. There is no longer that sickly black rain that awash the decks nor that malicious lightning that flashes at every interval. The cherubs who have hid in the black blanket are now in plain sight, and the scales seem to tip in their favor. Seruel has to agree with Percival's statement, his migraine from earlier has disappeared. "Very well. Then, shall we continue?"

"Seruel, ahead." Percival motions and they both see the Captain's little airship speeding towards them.

* * *

Pandemonium is in a state of mayhem, Atziluth is crashing down from above them, and Gadreel is mad. Extremely mad. 

What Sandalphon won't give for some time of tranquility?

Lucifer's cup of coffee, perhaps. 

"There's a simple reason to go that our creator gave you one pair of wings, you ugly sparrow." Says Gadreel calmly, but with undisguised cruelty. "You're not even a replacement. You're just a scapegoat, like me."

Gadreel stares straight at him, as if he's morbidly amused by some repugnant rag doll. The ruthless words deviously pour into Sandalphon's ears as the Primarch sends another of his numerous suspending light blades at him. They are back to their aerial standoff after Gadreel kicks unsparingly him into the air, and it is visibly clear that the Supreme Primarch is not having the upper hand.

Then Gadreel raises his arm and brings the trenchant blade down to Sandalphon's throat, in which the other effectively parried again with trembling arms. He really can’t feel the tips of his fingers, or brace his brittle bones anymore. Only the heat of battle boils within Sandalphon's restless nerves and keeps him going like a steam engine as he scathingly throws a few incoherent remarks at Gadreel. Despite exhaustion creeping up his bones, he doesn't abate his flight pace.

The twelve wings always feel more of a weight than power. Perhaps it is the colossal burden of his responsibility as the Supreme Primarch. Perhaps it's just an unfortunate detrimental lack of his innate ability and Lucifer's sheer prestige. Perhaps, the staggering feeling of isolation every night and those doleful pale iridescent orbs reflecting his blood-streaked sins.

Perhaps-

_His touches are careful and tentative against his hot skin, even though it's already healed. They both know he's to inherit him. A minor burn is the trivial of the least trivial. Yet, he chooses to ravel in consolatory solace in this particular sentiment and, unintentionally finds himself leaning closer into the touch._

_Such._

_Unscrupulous-_

Sometimes, Sandalphon thinks he may lose himself imagining being in the peaceful midst of Skydom's foaming oceans or back to the tranquility of his Seraphim's Cradle and drown among a myriad of shimmering colors irradiating behind his eyelids.

"Whatever I am. I'm not alone, unlike you." He composes his mind for that split second, rigidly straightens his back once more, and poises resolutely. Then he's dizzy again, but he gets his main point across to that bastard, who keeps gazing perplexedly at him for a full minute in uncomfortable silence.

Gadreel then mutters threateningly with a low growl. "You are very...infuriating. We could have it all. Rule all over. Gods of a free world. Which part of it does not entice you?"

Sandalphon blinks aggravatingly and instantly replies. "Someone once said the same thing, except he was less inclined to share the throne. But he's a tyrant and I am not."

Gadreel sneers, not even bothering to hold back his full contempt this time. "You try to sound all good and righteous, when the damage you have done is nigh inconceivable."

Sandalphon snorts, trying his damn bravest to pull out a front as he braces himself for another incoming blow. "At least I did not blow up the entire Skydom."

Yet no blow comes, and he witnesses Gadreel vicious gaze which vilely lies on the Grandcypher instead. Sandalphon sees familiar faces in the tiny group, all trying to avoid the offending Cherubs as they hastily get off the flight vessel. 

"They disembarked." Gareel narrates coolly with a touch of scorn. "You know a thing or two about mortals, _Supreme Primarch?_ You got to give them a little hope. Then, take it all from them. The faces they make are absolutely priceless." 

"Damn-" Sandalphon curses as he launches himself towards Gadreel in barbaric desperation. Yet the other already has taken flight and Sandalphon ends up stumbling over. 

_No wonder this Fallen Angel is locked up in Pandemonium!_

"I will never tolerate such great humiliation ever again." Gareel whispers to himself, a vacant look in his eyes as he locks onto his target. 

Lyria visibly pales when large manacles rain upon her, flinching in detestation when they hook onto her limbs. Djeeta dashes in first, for she's the closest to her, to take the brunt of the hit but ends up being tangled in the black chains. As quickly as they have appeared, they also quickly retract with great force, dragging Lyria away while sending the Captain crashing headlong onto the bedrock not far below. The others sprawling on the wooden surface of the Grandcypher. 

Rosetta tries to summon her thorns, but their growth speed do not match them. 

Gadreel's menacing silhouette grows bigger and he appears enshrouded from behind the clouds. The atmosphere's oddly smothering and Lyria gulps thickly, unsure and fearful. She can hear Katalina's cries as tries not to tremble before her enemy. Still her biceps pitifully flexed and they remain a stark reminder that she is still bound and vulnerable. 

"How hilariously gritty." Gadreel sighs in disinterest. He looks on at her apathetically, caressing her cheek in a languid manner and seemingly marvels at the innocence reflected in the pair glossy eyes. "How needlessly compassionate... One day, it'll all eat you up from the inside, you know." 

Lyria feels something lodge at the back of throat.

What is this?

She feels nothing from this Primal Beast.

Not even the slightest thread of hate or a piece of memory.

He's just like an eternal abyss. 

_He's literally nothing._ Some hollow voice echoes. 

Suddenly he forcefully grabs her cheeks, his fingers digging so deep and nearly drawing blood from her flesh, breaking her from her thoughts and confusion. Her face inches apart from his and downright petrified, Lyria continue to remain silent as tiny water pearls start kissing the corners of her eyes. Then, he erupts into peals of deranged laughter while fluttering a little bit away, before shifting his blade in his hands.

"Consider it an honor. Die." 

"Lyria!" Just below, Djeeta shrieks and in unbridled terror, manages to grapple on one of the stiff chains with unsteady fingers. They don't budge and she knows she's too late. 

Or so. 

Sandalphon takes the hit. Instinctively, he blindly sends Ecliptica flying next. 

Searing metal stil slices through his flesh, like a branding iron, as feathers scatter and muscles rapture. Crimson liquid prunes the skin of his straining back as he spitefully spat out a massive splodge of blood. A maelstrom of thoughts assaults his head while he tries to regain his composure. 

_Fuck, it really hurts._ _Bastard should have gone for the head instead. Also, isn't Ecliptica supposed to heal? Don't tell me his sword happens to be like that dastard Beelze-_

Fatigue soaks into every pore while his wound aches on undulating levels of escalating agony, Sandalphon can practically do nothing other than focusing to stay barely aware of the situation on hand. He hears frantic scrambling on the ground and he thinks that Gadreel's attack may have also effectively broken Lyria's bindings.

"Sandalphon!" Lyria sobs hysterically, rivulets of pearly droplets rolls down from her puffed cheeks. Djeeta's a soggy mess of perspiration and denial as she lays slump in a boneless heap on the floor beside Lyria, having finally made her way up just a second later.

"Heavens, Singularity... Danchou. I think took a bad blow- Won't you... have half a mind to take Lyria away?" Each intake of air gravelly burns down his parched throat and tortuously traces along his laceration to fill his lungs before he sputters out in deep puffs. 

Djeeta roughly hauls Lyria up, yet her eyes never leave him, their initial light caramel hue darkening akin to the likes of burnt sugar. Before any of the offending chains snarls them back, she backs away to safer distance. 

"Surprise me there. They have gotten out of harm's way." Gadreel mimics a tone of reassurance as he observes the two girls with a sinister glint in his red eyes, unscathed by the earlier blow. He mirthlessly derides. "Who am I joking? This is the end of your coquetry, Sandalphon. It's comedic but much too vapid for my taste." 

Sandalphon's still on the ground. His face is warped in a grimace and his complexion slightly ashen as his bloodied lips curl in disdain. "Nonsense." 

Gadreel doesn't hold back his punches. 

Already, his red-rimmed eyes are swollen over and his blood oozes down Gadreel's blade in thick blobs which are now spattered on the bedrock. Yet, it is not as if Sandalphon cannot deliver his fair share, Gadreel's face is a mangled mess of broken nose and several abrasions. Still, the other remains unaffected and recovers his stance as soon as he gets hit. 

Regardless, Sandalphon obdurately persists. The ugly truth in his chest clamoring louder than their clashing swords: Gareel is stronger. It's clear-cut. The painful prominence that Gareel has emerged constantly victorious in their many earlier scuffles sears deeper into his memory.

_They both understand. One of them has to fall. Both refuse to fall. Both know who will fall._

There's nothing Sandalphon can do to deter the strength of Gadreel's ferocious attacks. The other is ruthlessly repeating his robust movements over and over with great vigor. When Sandalphon manages to devoid him from one of his blades, the fallen Angel unhesitatingly brings his other weapon over and brutishly plunges the sharp edge straight through the Primarch's chest and armor, as if shucking him open like an oyster, to where his core supposedly lies. The flesh's severed so deeply that it makes the armor that once withstood Belial's heaviest assaults seem like a wooden toy shield and Sandalphon's mind struggles to register between excruciating pain or collapse. 

Gadreel licks the bead of red balancing precariously on the sharp metal edge, as he pushes his blade deeper in a tortuous tantalizing manner, mocking as he divests Sandalphon of his dignity and authority. 

The pain had become too nauseating and intense for Sandalphon to withstand any longer. His buckling knees finally giving way onto the dirt.

Yet he smiles. 

Brave, bloody and bold. 

Unfaltering, willful, Sandalphon.

"This is the end of your coquetry, Gadreel. Comedic but much too vapid for my taste." It's almost farcical how his contemptuous sneer ends up interspersing with a throttling noise, making him quiver like a dying animal. It's also because of his pathetic attempt to deliver a threat that Gareel doesn't take him seriously.

Then, Gadreel eventually realizes it all in the split second. However, he's too late when Sandalphon grapples on his wings now that he's within reach. He just watches as the Singularity brings his very own blade down on him, swift like passing judgement, as his eyes widens in disbelief at the feeling of cold betrayal. Sensing a jarring heat swirling in the depths of his being, he finds the domineering aura of the Supreme Primarch palpably shackling him in his place.

_"Why is it Lucifer and not me chosen?"_

_"Because he's better. Lucilius has always made the best. We all know that."_

_"Even that little sparrow in his garden?"_

_"Even that little sparrow."_

Gareel releases a shrill anguished bawl, fuming and cussing. “You are nothing like Lucifer! Nothing!” 

Sandalphon thinks it's time to mark it as an endgame for their plight of debased misery. Atziluth's shadows looms bigger over them like the impending doom it is, and the first of its edges drives past the bedrock, fracturing huge fragments apart. Fissures marring the floating ground beneath them as they both remain pinned down.

The wannabe Supreme Primarch with broken wings and sword through his chest, pointing up.

The wannabe Supreme Progenitor with a sword through his chest, its tip embedded deeply into the ground. 

"Good." Says Sandalphon. "Paradise Lost."

Heavy light beams blast towards Atziluth and before Gadreel has time to react, it spirals down even faster. 

It's a fortunate stroke of serendipity, he thinks, when the main of Atziluth's body crushes Gadreel away from his view. 

* * *

Sandalphon drifts between the land of dreams and reality.

He will be always remembered for his infamy of unleashing terror and wreaking havoc in the skies, malevolently hexing the weather cycles and obliterating all he used to have. All of these calamities has been unanimously attributed to his unreasonable egoistical tantrum.

_If only-_

_If only what?_

The heart is truly like the darkest night without a solitary light.

He wearily cracks open an eye, his throat's scratchy, his nose's filled with a nauseating metallic tinge and the pain at his back searing at sporadic intersperses. Djeeta's holding him tight, her face a ghastly shade with purple bruises and sunken eyes. They are somehow on higher ground, but still falling. He recalls Gadreel's crazy ramblings about how Atziluth's a weapon that will collapse the space around it when it falls. 

"Djeeta, run. Leave me be." He doesn't call her Singularity or Danchou for the matter, as he gently grasps her hands and locks his fingers weakly with hers. His gestures are disturbingly comforting despite his ominous words. Somewhere, she hears Lyria and Vyrn shouting their names above. 

"You know, I think Lucifer made you perfect." She doesn't know why she chooses to say that out of all the million other things, but Sandalphon's genuinely smiling.

"Your fingers are delicate." He softly cajoles instead and places a wet palm to her cheek. It's cold, but she leans onto it anyway. 

At that moment, she finds herself levitating and in apprehension, she tries her best to wrestle her way down. Sandalphon's still smiling and she thinks she sees an apology flashing across his rubellite orbs. 

"Sandalphon!" She screams, knowing what it means, her hands gripping down on his armor. He is not giving her a choice. Alas, the upwards force is far too strong and finds herself losing strength. In her palm, she's grabbing a single feather from his twisted wing, her last trestle, to stay-

It breaks. 

Many feathers start shedding away, as if his wings are all eviscerating away. All in various colors flowing like a rainbow stream, rushing pass her like freshwater salmuns to their breeding grounds and into the air. Each of them carries a little glow, cleansing all the filth which initially has enveloped Pandemonium. The Cherubs disintegrate into black ashes, dissipating into the wind. Everything slowly turns back to their original state, save for the hovering figures in the sky, where the white feathers gather around one particular individual.

When all the feathers scurry past, Djeeta's somehow aboard her transport vessel and the Supreme Primarch gone. 

Sandalphon thinks. 

(If this Astral made him in their image, they must have made him really flawed. Yet if Lucifer made him, he's perfect.) 

Reminiscences of Lucifer endearingly ruffling his disheveled hair for no reason, wiping tears away from his cheeks and kissing all his unreasonable fears away thrums in his cracked core. He revels in them. 

One thing has never changed, be he a redundant Angel, a Fallen Angel or a Supreme Primarch. 

His eyes are always dyed with the color of Lucifer's skies.

* * *

Trembling fingers clutching a brown plumage, she quietly lambasted those ludicrous dreams responsible for turning her into such an idealistic fool as hot tears trail like deformed pearls down her bloody cheek. Oddly she feels nothing Glorybringer, more like runaway bride. Lyria and Vyrn are silent, unsure of what happened. 

From a distance, she sees all the crew has returned and the deck's bustling once more.

She also sees familiar iridescent blue orbs and six of majestic white wings. A similar face to Lucio, standing beside Lucio. He looks out of place as if searching for something, despite having a smile on his handsome features. 

_How will Lucifer to think to have receive nothing from his solace and have only regained the powers he once gave away._

She can only wonder as she hides her face behind her filthy hands, where brown and dirt has crusted into the creases of her palms. 

_Your fingers are delicate._

Indeed, her hubris may have gotten the best of her. 

* * *

The ephemeral twilight dims down. The placid sky blushing a pretty shade of pink and soon awash with hues of murky white, as the waxing moon shyly emerges from the clouds and illuminates everything. There's the tintinnabulation of front door bells as someone hastily leaves the shop, footsteps thumping heavily on the granite road. "I'm leaving!" 

"Yes, Gran. See you tomorrow." Siera, owner of a quaint little café by the alley, muses as she chances across a man with broken wings in the rubbish dump. "Now, dear me. What do we have here?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It really wasn't supposed to be that violent...
> 
> Explaining Atziluth for this first part. Although I will be going about it in the last of the trilogy, it is still a while before the story comes to there.  
> It is created by an Astral whose talent is almost on par with Lucilius. They are brilliant, even to the point of unlocking the dimensions of time, which is why Lucio secretly shelves the weapon away after a battle with Lucilius. Apparently, Gadreel was there when it happened. Hence, Atziluth not only serves as a weapon but also serves as a revival point if the Primal Beast ever falls in battle. Lyria with her innate power also triggers Atziluth to turn back time and revive the Primal Beasts that only she has met and were earlier killed by Gadreel. It's already quite old, in a state of disrepair and damaged when Gadreel has it out again. This is why Djeeta is able to destroy it so easily.
> 
> (Also, main character plot armor.)

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely self indulgent.  
> This fiction alternates between the captain and Sandalphon's perspective.  
> For any lore mistakes, refer to topmost line.  
> Relationships are all open to interpretation.


End file.
